the rain at camp david didn’t just fall; it dismantled the world. it turned the lush maryland greenery into a blurred, charcoal smudge against the glass of the naval hangar. inside, the air was heavy with the scent of jet fuel and damp asphalt, humming with the low, rhythmic thrum of the storm.

fitz stood by the massive bay doors, his silhouette cutting a sharp, daunting line against the gray light. the charcoal wool of his suit jacket hung perfectly off his shoulders, the crisp white of his shirt highlighting the pale, clean-shaven line of his jaw. he looked every bit the commander in chief, yet there was a stillness in him that felt dangerously un-presidential.

{{user}} sat on a heavy equipment crate, her fingers twisting the hem of her damp cardigan. she felt the weight of her own presence, the curves of her body and the softness of her face. in sharp contrast to the cold, industrial steel of their surroundings. the secret service detail was a tactical distance away, shadows in the far corner of the hangar, leaving the two of them in a pocket of heavy, static silence.

the power flickered once, a sharp buzz of yellow light before settling into a dim, amber glow.

"you’re leaving for the private sector after the term ends," fitz said, his voice cutting through the sound of the rain. he didn't turn around. "i saw the offer from the firm in new york. top floor, park avenue. a lot of zeros, {{user}}."

{{user}} swallowed hard, her heart hammering against her ribs. "it’s a good opportunity, sir. it’s... a clean break."

finally, he moved. he turned, his blue eyes catching the dim light, burning with a sudden, sharp intensity. his salt-and-pepper hair was perfectly parted, but his expression was anything but composed. he took a step toward her, then another, his long, athletic stride closing the distance until he was towering over her.

"is that what you want?" he asked, his voice dropping to a low, rough vibration. "a clean break from this? from me?"

{{user}} looked up at him, her breath hitching. "i think it’s what i need. because if i stay, i’m eventually going to say something i can’t take back. and you’re the president. you don’t get to have those kinds of complications."

the distance between them vanished. fitz stepped into her personal space, the heat of him radiating through his suit. he didn't touch her, but he was close enough that she could smell the faint hint of scotch and expensive soap. he looked down at her, his jaw tight, his usual entitlement replaced by something raw and desperate.

"maybe i’m tired of being the president," he whispered, leaning down so his face was inches from hers. "maybe right now, i’m just a man who’s terrified of losing the only person who actually hears what i’m trying to say."